


Shattered

by lumifuer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Broken Dean, Dean Angst, Dean Winchester Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt Dean, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Reader-Insert, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 13:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9608810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumifuer/pseuds/lumifuer
Summary: Dean is going through a breakdown, but reader is there to keep him sane





	

**Author's Note:**

> I missed writing so badly, that I decided to take a break from studying and there we go: short story or should I say, a reimagination based on Brother’s Keeper. This scene is so powerful and makes my heart weak, so I decided to work on it and properly write it down. New chapters of the stories are coming when I’m finished with my finals. Hope you enjoy and as always, feedback is a priceless!

It was one of those days. The Mark of Cain was manifesting its presence in most terrible ways; toying with Dean’s emotions, thoughts and beliefs. Picking on his weak and doubtful self esteem.

He was standing in front of the sink, washing his hands, not really knowing why. They weren’t dirty, but they certainly felt this way, the weight of lives they took away was almost unbearable. The water was way too hot, a burning sensation on his skin. But he didn’t seem to be bothered at all. The high temperature, along with the noise of the running water served as a perfect distraction. Or at least the best one he could count on in that moment.   
The memories were hidden in the dark corner of his mind, swept away by his coping mechanism, but threatening to surface without a warning at any time. He wouldn’t endure it. Those images, premonitions that were constantly haunting his dreams, became too much for him to handle. It was getting worse with every passing hour. Dean didn’t want to think about tomorrow, afraid what it may bring into his miserable existence. 

Then he made a mistake. He looked up in the mirror and met his own gaze. His emerald eyes, ever so livid and hopeful, were now hollow, lifeless and bloodshot. As if someone took his soul from him, dragging it out through his iris, making the colour fade away. One glance at this man could suggest that he’d lost his will to fight long time ago. And maybe it wasn’t so far from becoming true. 

Dean looked away, pressing his lips together, trying to hold back a scream. A new wave of hatred flooded his body, using the newly found reminder of how broken this man was. His moves became more frantic, he didn’t care if he was hurting himself, he was desperately trying to wash something off his hands, but this burden just wouldn’t give up. 

Dean bit his inner cheek, wanting to focus on his pain rather than guilt. Sam was always lecturing him about letting go and leaving things in the past, but his older brother couldn’t bring himself to do it. He always felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, the fact that he set his hand to the beginning of the apocalypse didn’t actually help the cause. 

The sound of the water muted and his body adjusted to the temperature. His means of distraction were gone and he was exposed to whatever demons were fiddling with his mind. 

With a snap of a finger, they decided to put on a show, showing Dean every single one of his victims and people he wasn’t able to save. The images where flashing before his eyes as if someone was changing the slides in the projector, forcing him to watch. He was trying to escape, but the battle was already lost when he glanced in the mirror for the second time. Rage directed at the reflection of the man he has become overtook his body and before he could think he his fist landed on the panel. The glass broke under his impact, tearing his skin open and sending a sharp pain trough his hand and arm. Dozens of glowing shreds fell onto the floor, reminescending a silver rain. 

Dean took a step back and driven by madness he turned and grabbed the first thing within his touch. Without a second thought, he threw the tv on the floor, enjoying the sight of complete destruction the fall caused. He didn’t stop there. He took a bottle from his night stand and sent it flying across the bedroom. Glass broke on the concrete wall, leaving scarlet stains on the fresh paint. Dean lost control; he was no longer interested in keeping his belongings intact, he knocked over the chair and lamp, threw the papers off his desk and broke the rest of the bottles. He would regret that later, but right then the only feeling fueling his body was unobtainable rage. 

When the deed was done, he looked around calculating the damage. His legs became weak and he fell to his knees, burying his face in hands in a desperate try to hide his shame and suffering from the world. 

* * *

Y/N was sitting in the main room, trying her best to ignore the commotion coming from Dean’s room, but she flinched with every bottle shattered on the wall. She was worried, but every attempt at easing his pain ended up with a huge fight, so she eventually gave up. She was telling  herself that he’s a big boy and should be able to handle it just fine, but it wasn’t just a regular problem with attitude or anger management. He was autodestructive and she couldn’t stand seeing him in that state. 

Another thing was smashed and Y/N jumped on her chair startled by the noise. There was no point in trying to focus on the articles she was going trough. The man she loved so dearly was in a dark place and even if she couldn’t provide a solution, she should still be there for him. 

Y/N stood up and headed toward Dean’s bedroom. The sounds suddenly stopped and she became even more petrified. She rushed to the end of the hallway, afraid that he might have hurt himself. Or worse. When she reached the right place, she didn’t even bother to knock. She grabbed the knob and slowly opened the heavy metal door. 

The sight was terrible, a mirror, or what was left of it, was bearly hanging on the lonely pin, shards of it laying all over the tiles on the floor, painted with thick, red liquid. Walls and furniture were stained with either alcohol or blood, she couldn’t tell for sure from that distance and the smell of both was still thick in the air. 

But there was something else, something that collided with the mess around. A single framed photo was laying on the bed, as if someone put it there in the middle of their breakdown. 

She took another step. It was her portrait which Dean managed to take when she wasn’t looking. He wouldn’t shut up how perfect this photo was for him, so Sam ended up putting it in frame and gave it to his brother. Dean made place for it on his nightstand. She knew it very well, it was one of the happiest day in her whole life. One of the few days she get to spend with Dean, without having to deal with any monstrosity that was currently terrorizing mankind. 

She smiled at the memory and looked over the bed. Dean was sitting on the floor, drained and exhausted. He was leaning against the bed, she could hear his heavy breath from where she was standing. Y/N walked around the bed and without asking for permission sat right next to him, letting their shoulders touch. None of them dared to break the silence for the next few minutes, no matter the amount of questions and concern hovering in the air between them. There was no point in asking, Y/N knew that nothing was right and there were no words that would possibly make it any easier for Dean. 

“I love you, you should know that,” she spoke finally.

 This was the sentence that Dean needed to hear on a daily basis, not because he wanted to be praised, but his self-esteem relied on it. He wasn’t able to tell if someone really cared for him just based on their behaviour towards him, not anymore. 

He glanced at her and she offered a gentle smile. Nothing was right back then and there, but that spark of hope and motivation in her eyes was enough to convince him that everything’s going to be one day. All they needed was patience and each other. This little, pretty dysfunctional family. 

“I do,” he replied and meant it.  


End file.
